In recent years I have adapted my walk into campus so I don’t go down Oxford Road, but today was an exception, for trivial reasons. It’s the main thoroughfare between the two universities and the city centre, and walking along it today at least allowed an appreciation of the fact that there are people back in view, doing things, enriching the local environment. The big influx of students hasn’t happened yet — but next week this should be heaving. And it’s all the better for it. I heard from an academic colleague today about the research showing how lockdown, spending 100% of our time in one place, is devastating for our ability to actually form new knowledge and long-term memories. Why are there those who love it and crave it?
Anyway, no more pandemic politics for now. I merely regret, slightly, that the angles are not quite right on this one.
Perhaps it is a little unfair to return to this theme again, because coming back through Manchester city centre in the afternoon, it was busier than I have seen it in a very long time — probably since Christmas 2019. The British populace is supporting the hospitality industry in its time of need, put it that way. But the teaching spaces at uni remain unused. However, I have some one-to-one meetings to organise and this gazebo looks a good place to check out. Like everyone else, I hope the sunshine continues for several weeks.
Back to work properly, but still a relatively balmy vibe over Manchester thanks to continuing good weather (it’s on the change, though), and a general lack of people of the academic persuasion. Why black and white today? Why not? I haven’t posted in monochrome for a while.
No social commentary intended: I think the cyclist was reporting an incident rather than being accused of one. Anyway I only realised later that I might have been picturing that. The main point of the pic was to show that in Manchester this morning it actually rained, the first substantial downpour for weeks. I have been saying how much we needed this — but it was somewhat irritating that it chose to do this when I was out in it without a brolly. I smelt damp for the rest of the day.
Since early December there has been a whole new version of our train service, extending — at least on paper — to Oxford Road station. This all makes my life mildly more convenient coming home on an afternoon, as long as I can bugger off no later than 4pm; in the morning it makes no difference at all, being quicker to walk between the two stations. For this, your friendly government magnanimously spent £85m on the Ordsall Chord development. Well, I’m sure it’s all part of some bigger plan somewhere. After all, it would be terrible to think that the people in charge of the country’s finances didn’t actually have a clue.
A bit of play in the processing. But what the hell, I feel like the country’s regressed a century or so. Last-but-one day in Manchester this year — with the state of the trains at the moment, that is no bad thing.
I know I did this one yesterday, to some extent, but hey, it’s a different spot with added gold. Ominous skies all morning but although it’s got very windy this evening, major stormy weather doesn’t seem to be brewing up. Which is a good thing, seeing as thirty years ago today (16th October 1987) the village I lived in at the time, Rotherfield in Sussex, had its 500-year old church spire blown down by the massive storm that hit the south of England that night.
Not the most exciting photo either but at least it indicates I had schlepped my way down to campus for the first time since March 2nd. Which, like most of Manchester has been throughout the whole lifetime of this blog, is being rebuilt — here, the Business School, part of the whole ‘campus masterplan’ that will turn us into some world-leading something-or-other, if the money doesn’t run out first, anyway.
The university have a campaign at the moment around environmental sustainability, and for whatever reason the marketing types see fit, it is called ‘10,000 Actions’, hence these hedgerow digits propped up by Oxford Road. Once I knew I was going to be in Manchester today, this was always going to be the choice, although I did somewhat ruefully notice yesterday that two of the zeroes had fallen down.
No matter, it’s the symbolism. I have reached my own big, round number — 2,000 days’ blogging. Every day a photo taken by me, on the day: there has been no cheating, I assure you, no retrospectives. Considering I just set out to do this for a year, I’m chuffed that I not only still have the motivation to keep going, but nothing has yet blown out on me, like a malfunctioning SD card or stolen camera — or worst of all, the feeling that on a given day, there has been simply nothing to photograph.
In celebration I have created a new ‘top 20 from 2,000’ page: my own favourite 1%. The stats have been updated too — these are an integral part of the blogging process for me, they are what allow me to notice the quirks and eddies and flows of my life, and how this daily photographing of one or other part of it build up into something meaningful. I don’t pretend to be a photographer — I hope I never have — what this blog is, is an extension of my diary, the visual, image-based journal that I show to the world on a daily basis: but most of all keep for myself. I thank you, though, for following it; likes and visits help me keep it connected to the rest of the world, and it’s nice to know that there are some of you out there who want to check in now and again and make me realise it’s not all gross self-indulgence. Thank you for still being here after 2,000 days.
And will I keep it going? Well, each time I think of stopping there seems to be just one more little carrot dangling ahead. Reaching numerical milestones like today is ongoing encouragement, and then looking forward…. over the next seven months I am already down to travel to Japan, the Arctic (twice, including for the midnight sun in June), the USA, other parts of Russia (non-Moscow) and some other new spots as well. Too much potential interest to stop now…. So on we go. Here’s to the third millennium.
Being 42 